Breaking Up is Hard to Do
by purrpickle
Summary: One-shot for Berrittana Week Day One: Firsts. The first break-up is always the hardest. Established Berrittana. One-shot, complete.


**A/N: **I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Well, hi ya'll. This is my entry for Berrittana Week - Day One: First Time (First Date, First Kiss, First "I Love Yous", First Pet, First Fight, etc.). I wrote it in one go, it hasn't been beta-ed, but I figured I'd just go ahead and post it anyway. So, here ya go~

* * *

The numbers of her digital clock are searing red. Closing her eyes does nothing to make them go away. Even the warm lump of her cat sleeping off a bender against her back isn't enough to get her mind off how long it's been since…

A low whimper leaves Brittany's mouth as she curls tighter into herself. Her stuffed aardvark is already soaked with her tears, but she can't stop producing more, and she's far past the point of caring that she's smearing them back all over her cheeks.

Stirring, letting out a perturbed mew, Lord Tubbington stands up just long enough to turn around, tucking his head in behind Brittany's hip.

It's such a simple motion, but it still makes a wave of shuddering sobs crash through her body. Rachel used to rest her hand right on that exact spot. She should move, take that pressure away, because she knows it _isn't _Rachel, w-won't ever be Rachel _again_, but she can't. She knows it's Lord Tubbington, but she still doesn't want to lose it. Not now. _Please _not now.

A soft knock on the door precedes her mother quietly stepping into her room. "Britt?" she murmurs.

Maybe if Brittany stays still and holds her breath, her mom might think she's asleep. She tries to still her shaking.

But Susan Pierce knows her too well. "Hun, you should at least turn on the light in here," she crosses over to the window, pulling the curtains open, "Or at least have some natural light."

Brittany's eyes burn even under her eyelids, so she yanks her blanket up over her head, sending Lord Tubbington jumping off the bed in a huff. "No smoking!" Brittany croaks out half-heartedly, not surprised when her mother sits down on the side of the bed.

"There, I knew you were awake. You know, you've really worried Bridget."

"Sis?" Sniffling, Brittany rolls onto her back, slowly pulling her blanket down enough to meet eyes the same color as her own.

Susan nods. "You were supposed to go to her soccer game, remember? And then you're not responding when she knocks on your door…"

Another level of coldness swirls in Brittany's stomach. She glances down, tears coming back to her eyes. "I forgot…" she admits. Her aardvark squishes in her hands.

Susan studies her. "Hun…" she starts, obviously weighing her words, hands purposefully loose in her lap, "You look worse than when you and Artie broke up. Did…" She takes a deep breath.

Brittany sits up. "Mom?" she whispers, voice catching, heartbeat starting to pound.

Studying her daughter's face before falling to her hands in her lap, Susan's lips twitch into a faint smile. She looks up again. "Did something happen with you and Santana? And… And Rachel?"

"_You know_?" It comes out in more of a child's plea than Brittany would have liked it, but she doesn't take it back. Her body rocks as tears overflow her eyes again. "_Uh_, ow," she says under her breath, swiping her hand across her face, "Stop _hurting_."

_Everything_, stop _hurting_.

Susan lets out a low laugh, shaking her head before leaning over to push Brittany's chin up, gently taking over the task of brushing her tears away. "Britt, you really don't hide your emotions well. And though I may not… Well, _fully _understand this… This thing you have with them," she smiles, making sure Brittany is looking at her, "The… Multiple thing, not the girl thing, I know you're in love. Right?"

"That's the _problem_!" Brittany bursts out, arms jerking as her voice breaks, pulling back from Susan as anguished energy pulses through her, under her skin with nowhere, _nowhere _to go, "_I love them_! I _do_! But they – but _we_ – " Another sob bursts forth, voice ripping up her throat, "_We broke up_."

* * *

Santana's squished between Quinn and Tina, crying into her rum and coke. Honestly, she doesn't know why she's even there, at Mike's house, forcing herself to be around people when all she wants to do is be at home, smoking cigar after cigar while drinking by herself and doing things she really shouldn't be doing, all where no one can see her cry. Because this? Being with some of the idiots of glee club, it glaringly obvious who _isn't _there, is _not _her idea of how to keep her street cred and how to… How to…

"They don't _love me_…" she wails, sobbing, weaving as she can't figure out who would be better to lean on, Quinn or Tina, "I don't know – I don't know what I _diiiiiiiid_."

Tina gives her a fake, drunk smile, awkwardly patting her arm. "Hey," she starts, slow but with dawning inspiration, "At least they're not sh-shacking up without you!"

Santana stares at her. Her face falls. "I hadn't even _thought about that_," she gasps, the pounding in her head getting hotter and tighter. Her fingers shake, the liquid in her cup sloshing around. Insecurity wells up. "But – why wouldn't they? They're both… They're both fucking _hot_, and I've – I've _seen _the way they looked at each other." Santana's throat closes off.

"Whoah, hold on there. Santana. _Santana_."

A strong hand closes around Santana's wrist, and she turns to see a heavily frowning Quinn one second away from rolling her eyes at her.

"Santana," Quinn says pointedly, "Put your drink down."

"Why?" Feeling belligerent, Santana glares at her.

Quinn glares back. "Tina, take Santana's drink away."

"'Kay."

Barely giving a token fight to keep her rum with her, Santana watches Tina set it safely away on the other side of the table, _far _away from Santana, only to turn back to a hand slapping sloppily across her face.

Burning heat ripples from her left cheek, Santana's drunken mind floating a second behind, and Quinn easily catches her attempted reciprocation. "Santana," the blonde snaps, hands flying to Santana's shoulders to shake her, "_Stop it_. If you love them, don't say _one more word_."

Anger is doing its best to shoulder every other emotion out of Santana's body. It's a familiar feeling, one she can easily embrace. "What the fuck do _you _know?" she demands, throwing Quinn's hands off and jumping to her feet, swaying before clambering over the bench seat; she ignores Mike's cautions, pushing Finn away when he immediately tries to steady her, instead almost faceplanting as the floor spins under her feet, having to heavily slap her hand against the wall before her knees buckle.

"All of you," she strains once she's caught her breath and equilibrium, everything pounding pounding _pounding _inside of her, "_Rachel_. 'Nd, and _Brittany_. They're mine. _Mine_. Even if. Even if…"

Tears spill over again, and she feels cold, so cold. "N-Need more booze."

Suddenly, arms wrap around her. She freezes, for a split-second thinking it's Brittany due to the height, but it's not. It's not. It's Quinn, and Santana's crying again. "I shouldn't be here," she mumbles, over and over again, "I need – Q. I _need _them."

"Shh," Quinn sighs, exasperatedly affectionate, "Calm down before you decide it's a good idea to call one or both of them. You wanna go for a smoke break?"

Terrified hope flickers in Santana's chest… Only to go out when she realizes neither girl would appreciate it if she called them drunk. She sags. "Whatever. Fine. I's can go for a smoke. Just keeps your hands to yourself. I knows I'm hot stuff."

Quinn's appeasing laugh does nothing to help the hollow feeling in her chest. And, the first chance she can get without the blonde looking at her, Santana finds herself slipping her phone out of her pocket. A second later, clumsy fingers type out a group text, scooping up another glass of alcohol soon after, washing unsatisfying, stale smoke from her mouth.

_miss u_

Santana shouldn't be there. But since she is, she's going to drink until she can't remember what reality is.

* * *

Both Sam and Puck are warm. They're firm, in the way that only guys can be, sharp edges and solid, and it's perfect because they don't feel like Santana and Brittany at all. Rachel knows she's being selfish and deluding herself by having both of the boys there to cuddle with instead of just one in a terrible ghost of what she's used to.

But with her dads gone for the weekend and her big house empty with too many memories, she hadn't wanted to be alone. Doesn't want to be alone. And while Puck and Sam are taking turns taking shots of the alcohol Puck had brought because Rachel had caught them on their way to Mike's party, she's keeping herself occupied with her tea, hot and soothing against her palms.

Puck's on her right, Sam's on her left, and as long as Rachel doesn't close her eyes for too long, concentrating instead on the game they're playing on the X-Box Sam had brought, she'll be able to make it through the night.

She feels like she'll die if she doesn't make it through the night.

The pain behind her eyes spikes again, and Rachel shakes her head, burrowing back into her pillows and each boy's shoulders. So what if both boys are taller than Brittany and Santana? That's better, right?

Rachel's heart squeezes, and she bites down on her lower lip. Stop it. If she just stops thinking about them… About…

Sam laughs, jarring her from her thoughts, and she's mortified to find that she'd started to cry again. Flashing her hand up, dashing at her tears, more trail down her cheeks when first Sam, then Puck, squeeze her.

"So, like, you know I don't hit chicks," Puck pokes her, making her look at him, looking severe and tough, "But I have _no_ problem finding some other way of payback."

"Totally," Sam tacks on.

Letting out a soft laugh, Rachel shakes her head, giving a watery smile to both boys in turn, "No, no. It's not their fault. I – I think it was _all _of us, to be honest. I mean…" She trails off, the pit in her stomach dragging her voice back down her throat, so heavy and full of despair she has to close her eyes. The tea in her hands and the weight of Puck and Sam are suddenly overwhelming.

What is she _doing_?

Sitting up, she slides forward, off the bed. Ignoring Sam and Puck's questions, she disappears into the en suite bathroom where, as soon as the door is closed and locked, she pushes her tea onto the counter and sinks to the floor. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she's taking deep breath after deep breath, pushing against the chilling feeling swelling in her stomach and out her arms and legs.

_Why_? _How_? Why had everything _shattered_? A spiteful quip of Santana's, followed by a cold comment of Brittany's, all so perfectly wrapped up by an incensed demand of Rachel's, and it had cracked. _They _had cracked.

One deafening beat of silence, devastated silence, it was done. Over.

A crashing wave of the unavoidable, one they'd all seen coming but refused to acknowledge. Which, Rachel slams her eyes shut, hands coming up to cover her face as her tears grow stronger, had just made things worse. They'd been clutching onto each other, not giving anyone freedom to breathe or space, and as their desperation grew to ignore the reality, it had just hastened their arrival.

"But why couldn't I have figured that out _before_?" Rachel whispers hoarsely, digging her chin into her chest.

She feels so _empty_.

Quiet discussion flurries outside of the door to the bathroom, and Rachel sniffs, looking up and tilting her head, starting when a quiet rap sounds.

"Uhm, Rache," Sam sounds cautious, "You've got a new text. It's from…"

"Santana," Puck pushes through, "Want me to delete it?"

"_No_!" Rachel snaps before she even realizes she's talking. Pushing herself up, heart pounding, she swallows and tries in a calmer tone, "No. Give me, please give me my phone." She's trembling. She's trembling, but Santana's texted her, so she forces her fingers to listen to her when she tells them to scoop her phone up as soon as it's slipped under the door. She sinks back down to the floor again, but she's barely paying attention because she can barely breathe as the text loads.

What did – is this a bad idea – what if – _is her heart going to break all over again?_

_miss u_

She can tell it's in the special thread that connects all three of their cell phones, and Rachel's sobbing and crying and laughing because she misses Santana too. Santana and Brittany and _them_. She misses _Rachel and Brittany and Santana_.

She misses – she just wants –

Her fingers fly.

_I miss you too._

She hopes Brittany will remember that she's always speaking about both of them.

She hugs herself.

She hopes Brittany misses them too.

* * *

Brittany sips at her milkshake. She still doesn't feel like she's in any shape to be out in public, but it's all she can do to make dinner with her sister, if not her mother who'd turned out to be even more awesome than Brittany had thought already.

Except everything except the milkshake tastes like ash in her mouth, and she can barely look up from her tray. Bridget's laughing, seemingly satisfied after getting the chance to describe her soccer game for her older sister, and Brittany musters a smile when her father chimes in with something Brittany doesn't get but assumes is funny.

If Rachel or Santana were there, they could explain it to her.

But they're not, and Brittany sucks violently on her straw.

"You gonna finish your fries?" Peter, Brittany's father asks her, his hand already sneaking forward to steal some.

Shrugging, a quick motion of her shoulders, Brittany pushes her fries at him. "Take them."

"Really?" Peter sits up, going to take them, but pauses. "Sue's got you on another insane diet? Baby, you're perfect already. I don't know why you think – "

"No." Cutting him off, Brittany musters another quick smile, "I'm just not hungry, that's all." How could she be?

Frowning, her father finally decides to believe her, and slides them over to his own tray. "Well, speaking of, but not really, how is being the school president going?"

Santana and Rachel had helped her win the vote. Brittany blinks. "They won't let me make third period a napping period. And I'm still having to fight to make prom have a dinosaur theme." As soon as that leaves her tongue, it hits her that she doesn't have prom dates anymore. Her expression fractures, and she snatches up her hamburger, stuffing it into her mouth before anyone can see.

At that second, right before she can feel herself starting to choke as she inhales her burger so her father won't ask her if she's okay, her cell phone vibrates in her pocket, and she freezes. Coughing, sucking in a deep breath and practically dropping her hamburger back onto her tray, she pulls her phone out.

_Santana_.

_miss u_

_Santana. miss u_.

Her jaw works, her head grows faint, and she almost runs to the bathroom, stammering out something she knows her mom can interpret for her father and sister. It doesn't seem real. Can she believe this? She wants to believe it. Her heart needs to believe it.

Then, as her hand hits the nearest stall, Rachel pops up.

_I miss you too._

Brittany's hand slaps over her mouth as she starts crying, dropping down to sit on the luckily closed lid of the toilet. She sobs, breaks down, unable to stop even as an overjoyed smile takes over her face. _i miss u i miss u i miss u _she taps out, _i need u i need us_

_I need us too. I do._

_me 2_

Brittany's laughing now, sad and happy at the same time. When her phone vibrates with Rachel's call, the sound of Santana picking up moments later, she doesn't care how drunk Santana sounds, or how crying Rachel sounds, because they're talking. They're talking, and Brittany is running out of the bathroom, is telling her family to go home without her because Rachel, oh Rachel, is coming to pick her up before they go get Santana, who's so sorry she's drunk but _she means it_, she means _everything_ she's saying, at Mike's house, before they're going back to Rachel's house. Sure, Rachel will have Puck and Sam in her car, to drop them at Mike's house, but Brittany doesn't care because she knows nothing happened there, and she knows Santana knows that, too, even if she'll probably make a snide comment because it's in her nature, and she'll do everything to make sure that nothing becomes of it. Because this is happening. It's really happening.

When Rachel arrives, Puck and Sam are in the backseat, and Brittany heads straight for the driver's side window. There's a second of staring, but Brittany steps forward, pulling Rachel into a deep, needy, reconfirming kiss. She missed this, missed the way Rachel smells and tastes, and it's with a mixture of regret that it has to end and excitement that she's going to get to see Santana again that she moves back, kissing Rachel quickly one more time before sliding around to the passenger side of the backseat, knowing Santana will need the passenger's seat up front.

She's so happy that she ignores the cautious looks on Sam and Puck's faces and drops in between them, giving each a huge hug before belting herself in. She's humming, she's so ready, and it doesn't take long before her fingers are stroking the back of Rachel's arm, just _needing _the contact. Rachel doesn't tell her to stop, so she knows she likes it, needs it too.

Finally, they're at Mike's house, the time passing so quickly and so slow Brittany can really only remember the thudding of her heart and how _good _it is seeing Rachel again, and Santana is already there, bundled up in her coat as she's waiting on the porch with her arms tight around her legs. She's beautiful, just as beautiful as Rachel is, and before she can even stand up fully, Rachel and Brittany are falling over her.

It's so familiar, so _right_, and Brittany wraps her arms around both of _her_ girls, squeezing them tightly into her.

Yes, they'd broken up. But it had only served to illustrate how ridiculous their break-up had been. How it had felt to be apart.

And that, Brittany moans, kissing Santana back, melting into her and Rachel, that wasn't bearable. They had things to talk about, things to work through, and they would. They will. After they got reacquainted. After they got _officially_ back together.

Just not now.

Now they had an empty house waiting for them to reaffirm just how much in love with each other they are in it.

Slowly, they pull back.

Rachel smiles. "Ready?" she asks, almost shyly.

Santana smiles back, eyes lightening. "Yeah."

Taking their hands, Brittany beams as she starts walking backwards, pulling them towards the car. "Someone," she jokes, laughing, holding onto her happiness as tightly as she can, "Warn me before I walk into the car."

Exchanging grins and shaking their heads, Rachel and Santana hurry forward, sweeping their arms around Brittany, turning her around so they're all walking facing the same direction. Santana's arm settles around her waist while Rachel retakes her hand, settling into her shoulder.

It's familiar.

It's right.

It's them.


End file.
